


We'll Cook. You Feast.

by MeghanAnna



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas Dinner, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 02:44:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13044855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeghanAnna/pseuds/MeghanAnna
Summary: Clarke is in charge of planning the delinquents’ Christmas dinner this year, and to prove to her friends that she's "capable" of the task, she secretly recruits Bellamy to help her.





	We'll Cook. You Feast.

 Looking at the list of side dishes her friends have sent her, Clarke starts to believe she really might be in over her head. She didn’t think cooking Christmas dinner for her and her friends would be so much work. They’ve been doing a dinner together for four years now and she’s positive they’ve never had _this_ many side dishes. 

It’s not even just the side dishes. She has to make a prime rib? That seems a little lofty for someone who only considers herself a “decent” cook.

But this is Clarke, and her friends told her she doesn’t have what it takes to make this dinner. They told her that they look forward to it every year and they want it to go well. It’s the group’s last hurrah before they all separate for the holidays. They want to go out on a high note, especially since some of them won’t be back until after the New Year. All of this just means she _has_ to do a good job. A great job, even.

But she’s not so sure she can pull it off. The longer she looks at the requests and the shopping list and her pristinely clean kitchen, the warier she becomes. But she can’t let her friends be right. She knows she can handle this—some way. She just needs to figure out how. And she needs to do it quickly, because dinner is in three days—the Thursday before Christmas.

As she bundles up to go out grocery shopping, a text comes through from Raven and she tears off her glove to slide it open.

 

**Raven:** Bellamy said he could cook on Thursday.

Not that you can’t do it yourself

I’m just letting you know

 

**Clarke:** I’m all set. Going shopping now. 

 

**Raven:** I’ll call out of work and do it 

 

**Clarke:** That’s ridiculous

I’ll be FINE 

 

She watches as Raven starts typing, but when the ellipsis disappears, she knows Raven isn’t going to respond. Hell, she’s probably texting the group to warn them that Clarke is insisting on cooking.

On the way down her driveway, though, she looks back at the texts from Raven. She and Bellamy are the only ones not working during the day on Thursday, and Bellamy has cooked the last three years, so Clarke offered to do it. He had no problem with it, just asked to make sure she was really okay with it. She insisted she was and the rest of their friends accepted it—eventually. Or, she thought they did, at least. 

Raven might be onto something, though.

 

**Clarke:** I will give you $50 if you meet me at the grocery store in twenty minutes and don’t tell anyone

 

**Bellamy:** What are you talking about?

 

**Clarke:** Meet me there

Please

 

**Bellamy:** I’ll be closer to thirty minutes

 

**Clarke:** Thank you!!!!!!!!

 

**Bellamy:** You’re being weird

And that’s way too many exclamation points

 

The extra ten minutes gives her a chance to stop at the ATM, even though she knows Bellamy won’t accept the money. She meant it. She will happily give him the $50 if he helps her and their friends never find out about it.

Bellamy finds her waiting on the sidewalk, hands buried in her pockets, hat pulled down over her ears. He, somehow, looks better than ever and about ten times warmer than her. No one looks good in twenty-degree weather, but Bellamy somehow pulls it off. “That was closer to forty minutes,” she tells him once he’s reached her.

“Traffic,” he grunts, nodding to the door and they walk inside together. “What am I doing here?”

“Raven said you were willing to cook dinner on Thursday.”

“I told you that when the whole thing came up,” he reminds her, ruffling his hands through his hair to get the snow out of it, as she grabs a cart. “I could have done this on my own if you were just going to pawn it off on me anyway.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Then, what am I doing here, Clarke?”

“I just want your help,” she tells him, stopping in the produce section to pick out potatoes. First, though, she takes out her phone to try and gauge how many she’ll need for the ridiculous amount of potato dishes being requested. “You’re better at this than any of us. Especially me, according to every single one of our friends.”

“I’ve never had a problem with your cooking,” he says and she smiles, but stops when his face falls. “Why do we need that many potatoes?”

He takes a bag out of her hands and puts it back. “They want three different kinds of mashed potatoes. Raven asked for au gratin potatoes. And I like baked potatoes.”

“Clarke, no,” he says, putting his hands on both her shoulders. She’s not sure if he’s trying to calm her down, but that’s what it’s doing. She takes a few deep breaths until he says, “Don’t let them push you around. Have I ever made that many potatoes? No. Do one type of mashed. They won’t even notice. And do a few baked potatoes, since you’re the one cooking.”

Clarke considers him and his words, but he doesn’t take his hands off of her shoulders until she relents. “We’ll do your mashed potatoes, since you’re helping.”

That makes him smile, at least. “That’s fair,” he says, pushing the cart forward. “But, I never agreed to help you.”

“Bellamy!” He laughs and walks away from her, leaving her freaking out and surrounded by potatoes. “Please.”

“Come on, Princess,” he calls over his shoulder and she runs to catch up with him. “I’ll help you.”

“Thank you.”

\--

On Thursday, Bellamy comes over to help, like he said he would. Despite the fact they’ve been in the same friend group for almost five years, they’ve never spent all that much one-on-one time together. When they first started hanging out, they didn’t even get along, so she didn’t want to spend any more time with him than was necessary. After about a year, they came to an understanding about each other.

They didn’t agree on much—if anything—but they were both stubborn and loved to make their point. Their friends insisted they didn’t get along at first because they were so similar. It took them the whole first year for them to realize they were right. After that, they stopped arguing so much because it was getting them nowhere and it was just annoying their friends. They still argued occasionally, when it really mattered to them. Mostly to Bellamy. He was always quick to pick a fight.

She didn’t start considering him a friend until the end of their second year of knowing each other. There was no particular reason as to why, she just remembered introducing him to Lexa and claiming he was one of her really good friends, which he was. They spent most of their free time together, with everyone else. And they’d just started ending up on the same sides of arguments, mostly on Twitter, and they’d transitioned from that into tweeting each other regularly, which eventually turned into them texting each other outside of the group.

But they’ve never really crossed that line into real life, one-on-one interaction. Sure, they’re usually the first ones to show up to the bar and they have no problems keeping a conversation going until someone else gets there, but it’s never _planned_. They’re just the early ones. Octavia is the late one. It’s just how it is.

By the time the meat is in the oven, though, she wonders why they haven’t done this before. They’re having a surprisingly good time and he’s only just talked her through seasoning a roast and helped organize for the rest of the dishes. But there’s music playing and he’s finding it very easy to tease her without being mean. They’re getting along and having fun without the help or distractions of others. It’s nice.

“I’m assuming you know how to bake a potato?” he asks, wiping his hands on one of her dish towels.

“I sure do,” she promises and he nods.

“Great,” he says, clapping once. “Get started on that and we’ll take a break for a little while to let them cook with the meat.”

Clarke does as she’s instructed and Bellamy starts a pot of coffee. She prepares five potatoes to bake, putting them in the oven with the meat and, when she’s done, Bellamy offers a cup of coffee, made perfectly the way she likes it.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

It’s not _awkward_ once there’s no cooking to do, but it does seem a little tenser than just twenty minutes earlier. “I didn’t ruin your day off, did I?” she asks once they’re on the couch with their coffees.

“No, I was kind of expecting to end up here anyway.”

“You said you’ve never had a problem with my cooking!”

“I haven’t,” he promises, “but you’ve never done something this big. At least, not that I know of. You probably had, like, cooks and stuff to do it for you growing up, right?”

“Are you kidding me?” she asks, genuinely incredulous. “We’re rich, but we’re not private-chef-rich. My parents did all the holiday cooking, thank you very much. And now my mom and Marcus do it.”

“Sorry,” he laughs, taking a sip of his coffee. “I’ve met your mother. She doesn’t seem all that domestic. I thought the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree.”

“I feed myself on a regular basis. When I have a family, I will continue to feed myself—and them—with a partner who does just as much providing as I do. I’m going to be Betty fucking Crocker, just you wait.”

“Hey, I believe you. Clarke Griffin puts her mind to something and she almost always succeeds. You’re doing it today.”

“With your help,” she reminds him and he shrugs.

“Who says you don’t deserve some help? I would have loved some the last few years. But, don’t worry, I won’t tell them. They deserve to be proved wrong every once in awhile.”

“You are a very good friend.” And, he is. Bellamy has always been a good friend and she likes that she’s able to experience it like this—just the two of them.

“You’re not so terrible either.”

Clarke smiles at him and pulls her legs onto the couch to curl around her coffee mug. “We should do this more,” she tells him, carefully so as not to come on too strongly. “Not cook them all dinner, but hang out more. Just us.”

“We should,” he agrees easily, but the way he’s looking at her makes her stomach twist in… excitement? Anticipation? She’s not sure, but she is sure he’s looking at her in a way she’s never noticed before and she doesn’t hate it. “We could go out to dinner. Or a movie. Or, hell, both.”

Her smile is quick and unrestrained. “We could do that,” she tells him and his own smile is pretty impressive. “And we _should_.”

“Cool,” he says, shyly looking down at his lap. “We’ll plan it when you get back from your mom’s.”

“We have a couple of hours until dinner,” she reminds him. “We could talk about it now.”

When he looks up at her and nods, Clarke puts her coffee on the table in front of them and slides over to the middle cushion. “I was planning on coming over today, anyway,” he tells her, putting his coffee down to and shifting to face her. “Not because I thought you needed help, but because I’ve been wanting to get some one-on-one time with you. Even if you weren’t interested in a date. Friends would be good, too.”

“I’m definitely interested in the date,” she tells him quickly. She doesn’t want him to get the wrong idea. She _definitely_ wants to go on a date with him. “How long have you wanted to ask me?”

“I don’t know,” he says, thinking it over. She tries thinking back to when she started looking at him differently... when she noticed how good he looked in his favorite plaid shirt or how he made her smile more than any of her other friends. “St. Patrick’s Day, I think.”

Nothing in particular sticks out from that holiday. The group of them went out drinking well into the night. They had fun, but she can’t imagine why that day would stick out to him. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he says, smiling again. “You got into that fight with the sexist bartender and you just tore him apart. I don’t know, it was really hot.”

Clarke can’t help laughing. She does remember that, but she didn’t think he noticed at all. “You never said anything. You never even made me think you felt that way.”

“I was trying to be subtle.”

“It worked. Maybe a little too well.”

“Well, you agreed to a date, so that means you feel something for me, too. When did _that_ happen?”

“You gave me socks for Christmas last year,” she remembers suddenly and his brow furrows. To be fair, socks aren’t typically a romantic gift. “I love socks. The weirder the better. And you were so excited to give them to me because they had art supplies all over them and they were my favorite color. You just knew exactly what I wanted and I really appreciated it.”

“Socks,” he says flatly, and Clarke nods. “A year ago I gave you socks and you’ve been waiting for me to ask you out since then?”

“Not waiting, but I knew I wouldn’t say no if you did.”

“I think you’re really going to like your gift this year, too,” he tells her and Clarke can’t help but cup his cheek and pull him into a soft, quick kiss. “That’s all I wanted for Christmas.”

“Good, because I’ve been so busy freaking out over this dinner that I just ordered everyone’s gifts yesterday and they won’t come in until after Christmas.”

Bellamy smiles and grabs her face to kiss her again. And once more, just to be thorough. “We should really finish up in the kitchen.”

“Okay.”

She’s a little dazed while they finish up the food and start setting the table for their friends. It doesn’t help that Bellamy keeps smiling at her or finding excuses to touch her. It really doesn’t help once they’ve put the last dish into the oven and he pulls her against his chest to kiss her again.

Her arms come up and around his neck as she stands on her toes to press against him even more. She melts into the kiss—something she’s never experienced before. She’s read about people melting against each other before, but experiencing it is something completely new. She doesn’t know where his hands are—her back, her hair, her sides, her ass. They’re everywhere. There’s an electricity between them she’s never felt and she’s not sure how she missed it over the last year. She doesn’t want the kiss to end.

But her doorbell rings—a courtesy warning, but nothing that will stop her friends from coming in—before they hear the front door open in the other room.

“Get out,” she tells him, pushing him out the back door. He looks so hurt. “No,” she promises, kissing him on her back porch. “I just don’t want them to know you helped me cook. Wait a minute and walk around to the front. I’m sorry.”

She can hear her friends talking in the other room and the sound of them taking off jackets and boots and she notices, for the first time, that it’s snowing.

“You’re insane.”

“Too bad. You already told me how you feel about me.”

Bellamy sighs but reaches out to close the door between them. It’s the perfect timing because just as the door clicks shut, Raven walks into the kitchen, followed by the rest of them. “Holy shit,” she says, looking around the room and Clarke’s eyes do the same, looking for any trace of Bellamy. “This looks amazing.”

“Great job, Clarke,” Monty remarks, sitting at the table.

“You made Bell’s potatoes,” Octavia notices, face lighting up.

“Where is he?” Miller asks, looking around. “I figured he’d be here already, making sure you didn’t fuck it all up.”

“He’s not answering his phone,” Raven mentions. “He’s never late.”

Just then, she hears her front door opens and hopes no one goes into the living room right away to see he’s walking inside without a jacket. No one does, they just call him into the kitchen where he finds them still scattered around.

“Hey, big brother. You’re late,” Octavia says before pulling him into a hug. His eyes meet Clarke’s over his sister’s shoulder.

“Yeah, people are crazy today,” he tells them and Clarke smiles gratefully at him. “It took me a while to get here.”

“You live five minutes away,” Miller says and Bellamy just shrugs. At least he walked to her house that morning and his car wasn’t sitting in her driveway. “Well, you’re here now. Should we eat?”

“Yes.” Clarke claps once. “Sit down.”

She waits until everyone is sitting down before she pulls out the asparagus from the oven and puts it on a platter. When she sits down in the last empty seat—conveniently next to Bellamy—she tells everyone to dig in and they are not shy enough to wait another second.

“Clarke,” Raven says after her first bite. “I’m sorry we doubted you.”

“This is almost as good as Bellamy’s,” Jasper agrees.

Clarke looks over at Bellamy and he rolls his eyes, squeezing her knee under the table. And all she wants to do is kiss him again, but their friends might find that weird, so she refrains. They’ll tell them later, maybe after they actually go on that date.

“Merry Christmas, guys.”

“Merry Christmas, Clarke.”

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think!
> 
> Come find me on [Tumblr](http://bellamyfrecklefaceblake.tumblr.com)!


End file.
